I miss you. I miss you SO much. I’m writing this because I really really need to tell you this, but telling you this will defeat the purpose of the reason I’m missing you in the first place. (Okay I’m also hoping that you might still read the blog and then you’ll know anyway. Yes, I know it’s cheating.) I miss you in the mornings when I’ve swum more lengths or laps and I want to tell you. I miss you every time I do something good—like eat baingan and not dessert and I know you’ll be proud of me. I missed you yesterday when I was drowning in nostalgia and regret and I wanted to tell you about it, so you’d remind me that I didn’t make the wrong decision and I just need to wait, the happiness will return. I miss you when I park perfectly in a car much bigger than mine that I’m only just starting to drive now. I miss you fifty times a day when I think of something you’ll find interesting—like the giant billboard that I saw yesterday for male breast reduction surgery to make you feel manlier, or I’m bored and I want to bug you, or just want to say hi.
I miss you when I’m feeling like this, gasping for air, too tired to dogpaddle and ride out the slump, and I don’t want to get out of bed or open my eyes or do anything at all, and I just wish you’d turn up at my door and gather me up and hold me tight and make it better. Just by being there.
I know this is my choice. I know you are hurt and angry and missing me too, and none of this need have happened if it weren’t for my headfuck. But believe me when I say that however horrible I feel right now, it cannot compare to the way I feel when I reach out and you can’t be there. Yes I said can’t because I know you would if you could. But said headfuck means knowing cannot affect feeling and oh god I cannot feel like that more than I have to already. I’d rather not even try than deal with that. It’s not fair to you though, and I know it. I’m sorry. And I still miss you. SO much.